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The Scratch

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Jun 9th, 2013
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  1. The neighbors are partying again. They always do.
  2.  
  3.  
  4. It’s the disadvantage of living in a duplex I guess. Laying here, trying to shield myself from the sound with layers of pillows. I could never get sleep with that stupid crap blaring throughout the home, the party dragging through the night as they guzzle their cheap beer and dance to their shitty dubstep. No other roommates are around to complain. I’m the only one that lives on this side of the house. So that means I’m the only one that has to suffer through the night.
  5.  
  6. Not that they care. They just want their fun. No need for them to think about little ol’ me and the stress they keep pressing onto me. Of course not. No need to care.
  7.  
  8.  
  9. I toss and turn. I bang on the walls. No avail. The party never stops. The pillows may drown the sound, but they never stop the vibrations. The dizzying bass that shakes my home, and me, to the core. It wants to be heard. It wants me to listen to it.
  10.  
  11.  
  12. I won’t let that poor imitation of music win.
  13.  
  14.  
  15. Morning comes. A blessing as the hung over party goers at the other side of this home stumble back to reality. Serves them right.
  16.  
  17. But I am just as worse for wear. I couldn't get much sleep last night. Even when the music died down, my dreams were poisoned with the sounds. Even in sleep it haunted me. Bore into me. I groan and pour a dose of BC powder into my coffee. I drink it down, I had work to do.
  18.  
  19. The tragic irony of my existence is that I am a classical musician. A pianist to be exact. Ever since I was a little boy I loved the piano. Its soothing tone. Relaxing. Complex. Beautiful.
  20.  
  21. I bought a keyboard years ago to record music online. A poor imitation of a true piano, but it sufficed for composing music for the internet to enjoy. I launched a bandcamp page months ago, put my finest work into one album, intending to make more overtime. But it did not sell well. Hardly enough to support rent.
  22.  
  23. And that tripe, that dubstep, outsells my work ten, no, a hundred fold. It’s a damned insult to the art, and worse yet, it is all around me! Taunting me with its incomprehensible, rhythm less noise! When I sleep, when I eat, when I walk, when I work, it is fucking EVERYWHERE!
  24.  
  25. But it also sells. Dubstep sells by the loads. Thousands, millions of records and downloads daily. And I need the money. I can’t keep supporting myself with two jobs, as I only lose time to compose.
  26.  
  27. I may despise dubstep with every fiber of my being, but if it sells, it is what I must create.
  28.  
  29. ====
  30.  
  31. Fruity Loops is a fine program. I've used it for quite some time now to compose. And it pains me to sully it with what I am about to create.
  32.  
  33. I go online. To youtube and other sites to find proper tutorials on how dubstep is composed, as it is hardly within my expertise. (Even though it likely takes none to create.) I wanted to discover what makes the music so popular. Most of the ‘tutorials’ provide little help, save for one.
  34.  
  35. It’s a ‘brony’ composing tutorial video. One by a famous artist, “Octavia”, for the background pony of the same name. I know of this fandom, but rarely ever interacted with it. The autists that scour the back alleys of the community made sure of that. Still, it is odd. She (Or he, who knows?) is more well known for her traditionally composed music. Why do they have a tutorial for dubstep when they have no examples of it?
  36.  
  37. Still, I respect the artist, and if they know the secret to creating dubstep, I will take it. I watch the video. Twenty minutes in length. I learn about the synth and ‘sampling’ music, as well as the heavy focus on bass to give the shaking tone of the music.
  38.  
  39. It was interesting how Octavia (Who, based on the narration, is indeed a woman.) made the music as they went with the tutorial. Helped me understand the process better. But what really got me was when she played the finalized song. It was like nothing I had ever heard before. It actually had a unique beat. A REAL melody! It felt natural and even, to a point, hypnotic. It made it difficult to thi nk…
  40.  
  41. The tutorial ended. I blinked, closing the window and opening the music program, and with new found determination, got to work composing.
  42.  
  43. It flowed out of my fingertips like paint from a brush. It so easily came to me! I’ve never been this inspired before in my life! I was making tracks left and right. I may hate the genre, but Jesus Christ it is easy as hell to work with!
  44.  
  45. In just a few hours I have my first album completed. Seven songs. Not many, but for a digital download I thought it would do nicely. I tried to put a bit of myself into this work. Put proper harmony into this shitty style of music to give people some culture for once.
  46.  
  47. I was satisfied, but very, very tired. I look to the clock. Four AM. Shit, I had work tomorrow.
  48.  
  49. I was tempted to just stay awake and keep composing, since I would no doubt oversleep if I went to bed now. But I was tired. My eyes itched. And a good night’s rest would do me good. With a small eye rub, I flop onto the comforter, and get what would be the best night of my life.
  50.  
  51. I dreamed of ponies. That was new.
  52.  
  53. Technicolored taffy horses, all dancing below me. Shaking their asses, raving, a brilliant glow of neon spinning wildly. I looked down at them, my vision tinted in violet colors. They are chanting my name.
  54.  
  55. I can hear the thumping in my head. The low, low bass.
  56.  
  57. The chants grew louder. The bass replied in kind. It was hurting. Throbbing. Like something was trying to get out, or trying to get in.
  58.  
  59. I hear a voice. A feminine one, speaking in a commanding tone. It wanted me to obey. I needed to obey. That one, simple order.
  60.  
  61. >Drop it.
  62.  
  63. I wake with a shock. The alarm was blaring with '6:00 AM' stapled onto it.
  64.  
  65. I rub my temples to calm my migraine down. That was one weird fucking dream. Freaking ponies? Really? I guess it was probably due to the tutorial and inspiration. Dreams are weird like that.
  66.  
  67. I get up, stretching my aching back as I brew myself a cup of coffee. I go check my facebook page and my sales of my newest album.
  68.  
  69. My jaw drops.
  70.  
  71. I already had over 500 purchases! In just one night!? How was that possible!?
  72.  
  73. Wow, just thinking about it made me all giddy, that had to be at least like, 2k right there from one album!
  74.  
  75. I call work. I give them my two weeks notice and tell them I was using a sick day. I didn't need work anymore if I could make five paychecks worth of profits in one night.
  76.  
  77. I push myself from the computer, excited, and continue my morning ritual. Toothpaste, toothbrush, a dab of water, and....
  78.  
  79. What the fuck was wrong with my eyes?
  80.  
  81. I lean in, pulling on on my left eyelid for a closer look. My eyes were red. Panic struck through me. For a moment, I thought I popped a vessel in my eye. But then I remembered that normally it would mean that my whole eye would be red. This was just the pupils. I just changed eye colors overnight.
  82.  
  83. I'll be honest, I'm terrified right now. Eyes don't just turn red like that. No matter what crazy eye disease I could have gotten from staring at a computer screen for too long.
  84.  
  85. I call up an appointment for the local eye doctor. Hopefully, I can get some proper answers from him if anywhere else.
  86.  
  87. Though the appointment would be tomorrow. I needed to do something with my time until then.
  88.  
  89. So I go back to that tutorial video.
  90.  
  91. And I just
  92.  
  93. listen.
  94.  
  95. ===
  96.  
  97. The rest of the day was a blur. I just remember the pleasant sounds. The droning words of the composer, and my own hands making music.
  98.  
  99. By the time I actually realized what I was doing, I had already composed two songs. Both also dubstep. I put them up on my site. It seems I am gathering a bit of a following now. What with the sudden burst of comments on my page.
  100.  
  101. Most are positive. They congratulated me. Praised me for my work that seemed to raise dubstep from the mess of amateur songs made every day.
  102.  
  103. But there were other comments. Ones that condemned me, calling me a sellout for abandoning my passion for the songs that paid more.
  104.  
  105. >But you're having fun, right?
  106.  
  107. Yeah, I'm having fun...
  108.  
  109. >Then screw what the haters say man.
  110.  
  111. Yeah. Yeah screw those assholes! Thinking they can judge me. I have to pay bills, you know.
  112.  
  113. >Just keep making songs.
  114.  
  115. Yeah.
  116.  
  117. >You got a few more in you tonight dude.
  118.  
  119. Yeah... A few more.
  120.  
  121. ===
  122.  
  123. Another three songs. All on bandcamp. Another five hundred in a day.
  124.  
  125. Though I didn't rest easy that night. The same dreams haunted me. Though they became stranger. The horses more sexualized as they danced, more lewd. Erotic. As erotic as muticolored equines could be. Something stirred up in me. The throbbing. The vibrations. They all came to me like a jackhammer.
  126.  
  127. Wub. Wub. WubwubWUBWUBWUBWUBWUB
  128.  
  129. >Drop it.
  130.  
  131. I woke up in a cold sweat once more. I wiped it from my brow in a panic. And looked at myself. I felt something sticky in the bedsheets, and groaned. A nocturnal emission. Of course. I could not remember the dream well, but I doubt it was a pleasant one.
  132.  
  133. My doctor's appointment is today. I am quick to get ready for it. But I pause. Curious, my skin was getting pale. Granted I haven't been outside in a while, but was my skin supposed to be so white?
  134.  
  135. I open the windows to my home, but stepped away in pain, covering my face. The light hurt my eyes far more than I anticipated. I could not even look at the sunshine anymore. Too clear. Too bright.
  136.  
  137. >You need sunglasses dude.
  138.  
  139. I needed sunglasses. Some way to hide my eyes from the sun.
  140.  
  141. >Violet lenses.
  142.  
  143. With violet lenses.
  144.  
  145. ===
  146.  
  147. It was difficult to walk down the street. Of course, I had no bike nor a car to my name. I normally walked everywhere. My jobs, the grocery store, all of it was easy to simply walk to.
  148.  
  149. But now I had to deal with this walk of shame. I got a few glances on the street as I passed. I could only imagine what they were thinking. "The fuck's with that guy's eyes?" or some child asking her mother about the pale man passing through. The thoughts made my stomach turn.
  150.  
  151. >They have no right to judge you.
  152.  
  153. They had no right to judge me. They had no clue of the sacrifices I make to my music. What I had to do for my craft. Ignorant, the lot of the,
  154.  
  155. >Don't worry. They will appreciate you soon.
  156.  
  157. Fuck em.
  158.  
  159. Even so, my eyes still could not adjust themselves to the sunlight. I had to keep squinting to see, and even then, it was discomforting. But I grit my teeth and keep walking. Until finally, the local LensCrafters was within sight.
  160.  
  161. ===
  162.  
  163. "My, this is peculiar."
  164.  
  165. It was difficult to keep my eyes open as he shined that beam of light through my eye, examining the reflection of my pupil. Tears well from my eyes from the pain. With relief he finally clicks off the flashlight, my eyes now free to blink as I rub them.
  166.  
  167. "It seems your eyes are suffering from intense light sensitivity. But, I cannot explain the change in eye color. It may be genetics."
  168.  
  169. Not exactly the answer I was hoping for. It seemed he sensed it.
  170.  
  171. "Though I don't think it will be permanent. It may simply be because you have not been in the sun for too long."
  172.  
  173. I felt a bit offended by that statement. I asked him what the hell he was talking about, since I go outside all the time.
  174.  
  175. "Well, not with that complexion. You look as white as a ghost."
  176.  
  177. I blink, looking down at my hands. My smooth, white hands.
  178.  
  179. "Are you sure you're not an albino?"
  180.  
  181. I grit my teeth in anger, but I hold my tounge.
  182.  
  183. The rest of the appointment was uneventful. As expected, he suggested sunglasses. The store had a good selection. Brown tinted, red, orange reflectors. All seemed nice, but I needed only one color.
  184.  
  185. >Violet.
  186.  
  187. I found the perfect pair. Rounded glasses, akin to goggles. That bright violet color reflected on my face as I picked them up. I had to get this.
  188.  
  189. The woman at the register looked at me quizzically.
  190.  
  191. "You ARE aware that these are for... Women, right?"
  192.  
  193. Right, this is getting a bit moronic of me. I feel ready to apologize. To turn back and get a different pair, but...
  194.  
  195. >Glasses arn't meant for specific genders. Just pick what you like.
  196.  
  197. Something told me to buy them anyway. I mean, they did look nice.
  198.  
  199. >And you like this pair.
  200.  
  201. I like them. I want them. I was not going to let some opinionated cashier get in the way of that.
  202.  
  203. I purchase the sunglasses. They were a steep price: Seventy bucks. But it didn't matter much to me.
  204.  
  205. All I needed to do was make more music.
  206.  
  207. I get home with little trouble. My new glasses blocked the sunlight with ease, tinting my vision in violet colors. I sit back in my chair, wheeling around as I contemplated my next move. My music was selling like hotcakes. I was easily able to sustain myself with just my music alone, as I always wanted to do. It was my dream, after all.
  208.  
  209. But, for some reason, I felt a bit empty. For all of my life I wanted to create music that would last throughout the ages. But this... Dubstep? It had no place in history. No one would remember my work in just a few years. It would fade into obscurity.
  210.  
  211. Perhaps the naysayers were correct. Maybe I did sell out. Perhaps by abandoning my initial passion, I have become what I hated the most.
  212.  
  213. >What are you talking about? You didn't sell out.
  214.  
  215. I rub my temples. My conscience was fighting itself. Was I right or wrong?
  216.  
  217. >You're only doing what you enjoy. You enjoy music.
  218.  
  219. I...
  220.  
  221. >You enjoy entertaining people. Making them happy.
  222.  
  223. No... Yes, that isn't...
  224.  
  225. >What makes what you are doing now so different? You're being appreciated, loved. Isn't that right?
  226.  
  227. I guess...
  228.  
  229. >Then keep composing. Enjoy it. It's your passion.
  230.  
  231. That decided it for me. I rolled back to my computer. Rubbing my hands. They felt unnaturally soft. Wrinkle-less. But I didn't let it bother me. I kept composing. I kept creating. It was my passion.
  232.  
  233. ===
  234.  
  235. My sleep was comfortable that night. Which is strange, since the housemates were partying again. I don't know how I could sleep through that before. It just seemed like a dull, boring song to me now. Something you could just phase out and ignore.
  236.  
  237. But my dreams were not so kind. I was in a bed now, naked and cuffed. The room was dark, with only the dull glow of lava lamps illuminating the room. I could smell the stench of musk, chemicals, and cigarretes in the air. I could hear the thumping of bass muffled around me in a small room. Panic was welling up within, how the hell did I get here?
  238.  
  239. The door slammed open. One of those horses again. White as snow, she was, with a horn of a unicorn, and a mane of blue that seemed to glow in the haze. A familiar pair of sunglasses were propped in her hair, her deep red eyes gazing into my own. She was drinking something. Liquor perhaps. But when I saw her grin, I could tell what she had planned for me.
  240.  
  241. She was walking towards me with her hind legs, tossing the bottle aside and slamming the door behind her. She crawled onto the bed, on top of me. She smirked.
  242.  
  243. >Hey kid. You did great out there.
  244.  
  245. That voice was familiar.
  246.  
  247. She slurred her words though, under the influence. But that didn't stop her as she pressed one of her smooth hooves onto my chest.
  248.  
  249. >I... I think this'll work out.
  250.  
  251. She slurred again, trying to find the words in her drunken state. She was celebrating, obviously, but for what?
  252.  
  253. My crotch was stiffening. Despite her being a fucking drunk horse, that voice was seductive. Alluring even. My instinct to reproduce responded in kind.
  254.  
  255. >Oh hhheeeeeeey, look who's excited!
  256.  
  257. She teased, moving her backside to touch my manhood. I gritted my teeth.
  258.  
  259. >No worries dude. We'll have plenty of time to get to know eachother.
  260.  
  261. That hoof she pressed, I stared at it. Watched as it sunk into my flesh like my body was just pudding. Her body was sinking into mine. Melding with it. I was terrified, hyperventilating. That noise outside, it was growing louder
  262.  
  263.  
  264. louder
  265.  
  266.  
  267. LOUDER
  268.  
  269.  
  270. It was so hard to think, I couldn't hear my own thoughts. But as her face began to sink into my chest, her eyes gazed into mine. And I heard her voice clearly above all the others.
  271.  
  272. >Drop it.
  273.  
  274.  
  275. And then I awoke. Another nocturnal emission, another headache, and another dream I can't clearly remember.
  276.  
  277. ===
  278.  
  279. I had to wash my sheets after that episode. I never expected to enjoy a dream that much. But my headache throbbed, and my figure did not fare well either.
  280.  
  281. I looked to the mirror. My face felt softer, my body slimmer. I'm worried that my work has caused me to forget about eating. To make up for it, I boiled some noodles, put an egg with it, and scarfed it down. Not exactly the healthiest of meals, yes, but better than nothing at all.
  282.  
  283. I check the time. 2:21 PM. My sleep schedule has been fucked as of late. I groan, and go to the bathroom to brush my teeth.
  284.  
  285. I began to notice other altercations. Despite not taking very good care of myself, I had no stubble on my chin to speak of. It was smooth as silk, like my hands were. It was almost featureless, even. My eyes had a bit of a twinkle to them, reflecting more like off of them. Possibly due to my over-sensitivity.
  286.  
  287. With my skin as pale as it was, my brown hair felt so out of place on me now.
  288.  
  289. >Maybe you should get it dyed.
  290.  
  291. Maybe I should get it dyed.
  292.  
  293. >Maybe electric blue.
  294.  
  295. Maybe electri-
  296.  
  297. I pause.
  298.  
  299. What the hell was I thinking?
  300.  
  301. Something has been messing with my head lately. I'd never make decisions like these before. Dying my hair, buying these weird glasses. (And wearing them. Indoors.) What the hell was I doing?
  302.  
  303. Why did I think about electric blue hair dye of all things?
  304.  
  305. >Because it looks awesome.
  306.  
  307. Granted it looks awesome and all, but I don't think it'd match me at all.
  308.  
  309. >It fits you. It fits your image, your music. It's iconic.
  310.  
  311. Iconic? Why the hell...
  312.  
  313. >You want to be remembered.
  314.  
  315. ...
  316.  
  317. >You want to leave a lasting impression.
  318.  
  319. Yeah. Yeah I do.
  320.  
  321. >Then make the change. Buy it.
  322.  
  323. I find myself on a website for exotic hair dye. I find electric blue.
  324.  
  325. I choose overnight shipping. I purchase it.
  326.  
  327. I rub my hands over my face. What the hell was wrong with me?
  328.  
  329. >You're just fitting the role.
  330.  
  331. I guess I am just filling the role I made for myself.
  332.  
  333. >You have one more purchase to make.
  334.  
  335. I do. I go to the music online store. I find the best turntable I could afford. All of that money I saved for that grand piano.
  336.  
  337. Gone with a click.
  338.  
  339. >Good boy.
  340.  
  341. ===
  342.  
  343. The throbbing in my head was coming back. Like a electric collar it pulsed inside my head the moment I began to question my own actions. My mind was at war with itself, apparently. And I could only stop it by investing in my work. Track after track, hit after hit. I was a sensation, with internet articles covering my work and its influence on the genre. It was an honor, even if it was not the genre I initially intended to reinvent.
  344.  
  345. And then, through email, I was invited to join a music-based podcast as a guest star. I was excited, nervous even, that my dreams were all coming to fruition.
  346.  
  347. And even better: That voice in my head had not been speaking for weeks. But I could only imagine what was happening in my dreams. Every night, like clockwork, I had sullied my sheets with my seed from god knows what. I had to keep washing them daily. A waste of a water bill.
  348.  
  349. I went to my bathroom. The dye had taken to my hair nicely. No trace of my original hair color was left. It looked striking, memorable. And while I wasn't as bulky as I once was, it seemed eating has been helpful, as I was slowly getting curves back to my frame. The shape may have been a bit too womanly for my tastes, but it would even out eventually.
  350.  
  351. Still, a podcast interview! And these guys were big too! Omigosh, maybe they would ask me to preform live on mic! Or, or, get me a record deal! I sqeal with excitement!
  352.  
  353. Wait.
  354.  
  355. When did I ever squeal? That sounded wrong, very wrong.
  356.  
  357. >What's wrong about that?
  358.  
  359. Nothing's wrong... About... That...
  360.  
  361. Yeah, what the hell was I thinking? I'm getting worked up over nothing right now. Just over excited. Yeah.
  362.  
  363. Alright, they told me that the interview was tomorrow. Oh man, maybe I should make a song to celebrate it, no two songs! Three!
  364.  
  365. ===
  366.  
  367. After a fruitful session of composing, uploading, and studying. I found himself drifting back to that brony tutorial video time after time again. I found it soothing to the nerves. Helped me get creative. Like a muse. And it was such a wonderful song at the end, and a wonderful voice. Perhaps I could contact this Octavia composer later, and thank her for the help.
  368.  
  369. The parties roared that night, much to my dismay. I was sick of their crappy music. It was not TRUE dubstep, but something some punk in college probably made to try to be the next Shrillex. It was an insult to the genre, something only drunk college kids could enjoy. I was about to ignore it and focus on my own music, but I paused, and listened through the wall.
  370.  
  371. This time, it was not shitty music I heard. They were playing MY songs, MY music! Wow, holy shit, my stuff was becoming mainstream! Wow, wow wow wow! People on the otherside of that wall were dancing to my music, drinking to my music!
  372.  
  373. >And fucking to your music.
  374.  
  375. And FUCKING to my music! Wow... Wow this was something else. I could feel a warmth inside of my like no other. I never... Felt this way before...
  376.  
  377. I was beginning to sweat a bit, aroused by my own thoughts of what could be happening on the other side. Mmf, maybe I should... Release a bit of stress. I don't want to sully my sheets again.
  378.  
  379. ===
  380.  
  381. I had another dream that night. That white horse from earlier was on me again, staring at me with her giant crimson eyes. She was teasing me, stroking me, tasting me. She leaned in, whispering into my ear.
  382.  
  383. >Looking better by the minute. I think you'll be ready for me tonight.
  384.  
  385. Before I could question her, my mind grew hazy. I could not tell, but it felt like she was mounting me. All I could hear, and feel, was the bass. Pounding into my brain. It was harder than I ever felt before.
  386.  
  387. And then something gave in. And I snapped awake.
  388.  
  389. I woke up that afternoon groggy and aching. Another dream I couldn't remember passed me. Another pair of dirty sheets. I moved to pull myself out of bed, but stumbled and fell. It was getting a bit difficult to walk. Like my legs were twigs now, popping their joints as I struggled to stand. I looked at them. My pale legs, white as snow now. My skin had just kept getting paler, and softer, by the day. And with my legs now failing me, I was worried that I would need medical treatment.
  390.  
  391. But I could not do that just yet. I had a podcast to attend to.
  392.  
  393. With some effort, I managed to slam myself onto my office chair. I got my turntable, already worn in with use, a set of records I recently purchased, and my keyboard ready. I turned on Skype, glad that no one could see how I looked like, and accepted the call the podcasters brought me into.
  394.  
  395. ===
  396.  
  397. "Hello and welcome to DubCast: The podcast with all of your Dub and Wub needs! I'm JackStep, your hose, and with us tonight is a rising star of the Dubstep community!"
  398.  
  399. His voice was smooth and clear. He as no amateur, for certain. This was the real deal. I was on a real podcast. Omigod.
  400.  
  401. "He came out of nowhere just a few weeks ago, and single handedly revolutionized the genre with his use of unique, harmonized sound. Please welcome, Vinyl!"
  402.  
  403. Vinyl was my new stage name. The one that complimented my looks. I don't remember when I changed it from my old username, but it fit. It felt like me.
  404.  
  405. "So, Vinyl, you have been a huge hit with the music community, and you seemed to have come from completely out of the park! With a record showing your long history with classical music, it is a suprise that you decided to work on this type of music."
  406.  
  407. >"Well Jack, it wasn't easy...
  408.  
  409. Wait.
  410.  
  411. >...moving to a new genre, but I feel like I made the right decision. This music just flows more naturally to me."
  412.  
  413. This isn't my voice.
  414.  
  415. "Oh, uh, forgive me for being a bit surprised, but I had assumed that you were a man, Vinyl. Is this the first time you ever revealed your gender?"
  416.  
  417. No. No no no no. This voice. It's the one in my head. Why is it talking. WHY IS IT TALKING!?
  418.  
  419. >"Of course. I have always been a woman, but I didn't want that affecting how people saw my work. The artist should not be the one selling the music, it should be the music that sells the music."
  420.  
  421. It's the exact same fucking voice. The one that told me to continue. The one that wanted me to get the glasses, dye my hair, buy the turntable. What. How. How is it using my voice? How is it CHANGING my voice!?
  422.  
  423. "Wow, wise words! So fans have been surprised at how fast you have been able to compose in such short periods. The amount of work you have done would take anyone else months to do. Yet you have pumped out song after song in a matter of days. What's your secret?"
  424.  
  425. I am not a woman! I am me! Stop talking to me like I am someone else.
  426.  
  427. >Oh, but you are someone else.
  428.  
  429. I try to scream, try to panic, but my body is no longer under my control, my lips were moving on their own with some woman's voice replacing my own. She was talking for me, and reguardless of my struggles, it felt so difficult to put up any resistance.
  430.  
  431. >You're ME.
  432.  
  433. "Vinyl? Did you mute your mic?"
  434.  
  435. I use all of my mental power, all of my will, to utter one strained sentence with that feminine voice.
  436.  
  437. >"I'll... Be... Right back..."
  438.  
  439. I manage to click the mute button. And I lose control of my body again. I gasp, my lips now under my control once more. But that was pretty much it.
  440.  
  441. I could hear it. That dull music again. It was louder now. Louder than ever before.
  442.  
  443. WUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUB
  444.  
  445. It hurts. I can feel my bones shrink and crack. I was beginning to understand now, right when it was too late to stop it.
  446.  
  447. My hands, before my eyes, began to melt away into these solid, hoof shapes. Like marshmallows.
  448.  
  449. No, oh god no. The dreams. I could remember the dreams now. I was getting fucking aroused with all of this pain in my head!
  450.  
  451. WUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUB
  452.  
  453. "STOP IT!" I manage to scream. bashing the back of my head on the hardwood floor in desparation.
  454.  
  455. >We have so much more to do, though.
  456.  
  457. The voice kept ringing clear. Through the noice and through my tears I could still hear her loud and clear.
  458.  
  459. Another snap, my weak hind legs snapping backwards, reforming into hind legs.
  460.  
  461. I was becoming the pony in my dreams.
  462.  
  463. I try to struggle to get up, but my suddenly lack of hands prevent me from getting any traction. My shoulders pop, smoothing down, and I slam back onto the ground again. My... Hooves gripping to the sides of my head.
  464.  
  465. WUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUB
  466.  
  467. It kept spinning my head, rubbing thoughts out, writing new stuff in, like a pin to a record. It could feel it. My induviduality, fading away from me. This voice, this HORSE was taking me over. I couldn't explain it. I could not even fathom this as a possibility, but my body was shifting, breaking and reforming, and I couldn't stop it.
  468.  
  469. WUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUB
  470.  
  471. A coat of fur was spreading over me, as white as my skin. It tingled like rows of needles as it reached my face. My nose felt like it was pushing my entire jaw foward, pulling the flesh foward into some kind of animal muzzle, but hardly any that resembles any known animal I ever heard of. I could feel fetures melting into simplicity, any protrusions that were not basic parts of the body seemed to just vanish, fading into a sea of flesh.
  472.  
  473. WUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUB
  474.  
  475. It wouldn't stop. The noise wouldn't stop at all. I could hear her laughter, that damned voice that kept forcing herself onto my mind. Toying with it. Playing with it. She was fucking with my head!
  476.  
  477. "You... Bitc-GAAAH!!" I scream midway through my spiteful words, my organs shifting and twisting inside me. Digestion. Respiration. And when I looked down to my crotch, I realized it would be reproduction as well.
  478.  
  479. Tears welled up in my large, glimmering eyes. "No! Nonono! NONONONO PLEASE NO!" I cried, watching as my manhood shrinked, and shrinked, and disappeared in the folds of what I can only assume was my newfound womanhood. I tried to seize it, like trying to catch a worm attempting to dig underground. But it was long gone. All I could feel were the slick fluids of my new womanhood. And as good as it felt, the pain was quick to change that.
  480.  
  481. My spine cracked, shrinking as I felt several columns from it shrink. My height went with it, the world seeming to grow around me. My poportions: My hips, specifically, seemed to get that much bigger with my form condensing, as if trying to bring it home that I was hardly male anymore. My clothes sagged around my form, quick to fall as I attempted to get back to the computer. To try to tell them what was happening...
  482.  
  483. WUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUB
  484.  
  485. I fell back in pain and pleasure. It hurt to hear, that music, but it felt like it was hitting the right buttons. This strange mix of euphoria and torture was wiping the slate clean. Taking me away. All of me. My mind. My body. My soul. Preparing it for something else.
  486.  
  487. WUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUBWUB
  488.  
  489. A knot forms from the top of my head, piercing my skull into a horn. One of a unicorn.
  490.  
  491. >You know what comes next.
  492.  
  493. No, don't say it.
  494.  
  495. >You know what happens.
  496.  
  497. No, don't. Please. I can't take it anymore.
  498.  
  499. "I just want to be me." I say weakly.
  500.  
  501. >And you will get to be me.
  502.  
  503. No! NO!
  504.  
  505. >Drop it.
  506.  
  507. Like a cannon, the music shot through my ears, obliterating everything in their path. I don't even have time to scream anymore. All I can feel is my sexual release as the music in my brain shocks through my very soul. I could feel it, my self drained out of me, right from my nether-regions.
  508.  
  509. It's getting hard to think. I do 't kn w h lo g I can l st...
  510.  
  511.  
  512.  
  513.  
  514.  
  515.  
  516.  
  517.  
  518.  
  519.  
  520.  
  521.  
  522. ===
  523.  
  524.  
  525. "Well we're back from our music break. Ms. Vinyl? You back yet?"
  526.  
  527. I open my eyes, rubbing them as I sit myself up. Lessee: Mane, check. Tail, check. Cutie mark, also check. Good, everything is in order. That fall could have broken my back. I toss aside those rags of fluid-soaked clothes around me with an audible "Bleh." Dunno why I have that crap around the home. I go to the office chair. It needed some adjusting before I could get to the computer proper.
  528.  
  529. With some quick unicorn magic, I clicked off the mute button. Dunno how I was able to operate this machine without it.
  530.  
  531. "Yes Jack, I'm here. Sorry for the delay!" I say, a bit exhausted.
  532.  
  533. "Alright! Well, as were continuing with the questions, we wanted to know if you had any inspirations for your music."
  534.  
  535. I put a hoof to my chin. "Well... I would have to say Octavia is a favorite composer of mine. Her tutorial videos were what got me interested in dubstep in the first place. I owe all of my success to her. Plus she seems like a pretty cool pony. I'd like to meet her sometime."
  536.  
  537. "You mean person."
  538.  
  539. I blink. "Right, person."
  540.  
  541. "So Vinyl, what's next for the biggest rising star of dubstep?"
  542.  
  543. I giggle.
  544.  
  545. "Well, I want to do a live performance in the next few months. I have a new album I hope to reveal with it."
  546.  
  547. The livestream for the podcast was abuzz with the announcement. Good, I want them all to know.
  548.  
  549. "Oh wow!" Jack says with genuine excitement. "Well, it might sound a bit much, but you think you could play us a sample."
  550.  
  551. I smile. "Sure. I did a cover for one of Octavia's songs. It was the first song I ever really got inspired from, it was only natural for me to want to do my own rendition."
  552.  
  553. "We'd love to hear it!"
  554.  
  555. My smile grows wider. "Sure thing. But fair warning dudes: It'll change your life."
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